Past Tense
by Julia4
Summary: Donna gets advice on her job offer. Since AS decided not to give us any resolution. It's a little Josh/Donna-y


Past Tense  
  
***  
  
"Hi, Donna. How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"It's been a while since you've come to see me," she says. I think about it a little and realize that I haven't been here in over a year.  
  
She asks me to take a seat, so I sit in a comfortably worn armchair. The floral pattern of the upholstery reminds me of my mother's curtains. Both are very ugly, but I find the familiarity somewhat comforting.  
  
"Why don't we get started," she asks, interrupting my reverie. When I don't speak right away, she asks, "Are you having trouble with your boss again?"  
  
"No," I answer quickly. "I've been offered a job."  
  
"What kind of job?"  
  
"Issues director for a political commentary website."  
  
"And you're not sure you want to take it?"  
  
"It's- it's an Internet start-up. It might not even be around a year from now," I say, hating myself for sounding like Josh.  
  
"That's a fair point. Anything else?"  
  
"I'm not qualified," I respond. Really, I'm not. I'm just an assistant.  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
"I'm- I never graduated college. I don't have the kind of experience that one usually finds in these kinds of positions."  
  
"Where do you work now?" I sigh before answering. After several sessions last year she is more than aware of where I work.  
  
"I'm a senior assistant at the White House."  
  
"And you don't think that would provide you with more than enough experience?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Do you know someone who works for the company?"  
  
"The owner. We went to school together."  
  
"Do you think that he's offering you this job because you know each other?"  
  
"No," I say firmly. "Casey wouldn't do that. He cares too much about succeeding."  
  
"So, maybe he thinks you're the best candidate for the job."  
  
"Yeah." I had figured that out pretty quickly. So far we haven't covered anything that I didn't already know. This is an amazing opportunity; I just don't know why I'm not jumping at it.  
  
"Are you having problems at your current job?"  
  
"No. It's- I loved my work."  
  
"But you don't now," she says, leaving me very confused.  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't follow."  
  
"You said you 'loved' your work. Past tense."  
  
"I didn't mean …"  
  
"What's changed?"  
  
"It's complicated. It's an amazing place to work. I get to see so much. I got to feel like I was making a substantive contribution." Beverly gives me a significant look, and I realize a moment too late that I've once again begun to talk about my job in the past. "But I'm starting to wonder if I'm not being held back. I mean, I know it sounds strange to say that a job forty feet from the Oval Office is constraining but-"  
  
"Constraining how?"  
  
"I'm not sure I-"  
  
"Professionally? Personally?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Let's start with professionally."  
  
"I'm just an assistant."  
  
"And this bothers you?"  
  
"It didn't use to. But lately I've had the feeling that I could be doing more."  
  
"Donna, it's okay for you to change."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And it's perfectly natural to want to change your environment. It's nothing to feel guilty about."  
  
"I know. That's not the problem. Things have been really bad lately. And with the election they're only going to get worse. I have an obligation."  
  
"To whom?"  
  
"The President, my friends, my boss."  
  
"The President has been in office for three years, surely some other people have left. Do think any less of them?"  
  
"No. But it was different with them. I had a friend, Cathy, who left to finish her masters. And it was really sad, but it was different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"It's hard to explain. I think it would be a bigger deal if I left."  
  
"Whom are you staying for?"  
  
"I haven't decided if I'm staying," I say, conveniently ignoring the rest of the question.  
  
"How are you different from Cathy?"  
  
I sit quietly. I'm honestly not sure how to answer that question. Cathy had a bachelor's degree and was working on her masters. She was married and-  
  
"Is there someone at work whom you're involved with?" she asks, startling me with her astuteness.  
  
"No. Not really."  
  
"Not really?"  
  
"No. He's… a friend. That's it."  
  
"Do you have romantic feelings for him?"  
  
I nearly dismiss the question out of hand. I've tried so hard to ignore and hide my feelings for Josh that it's become almost reflexive. But, I figure that if I'm not honest this will just have been a colossal waste of money and, more importantly, the hour that Josh gave me off for dinner.  
  
"Yes," I say simply.  
  
"Does he know?"  
  
"No." That is one thing of which I'm absolutely certain. There is no way he's figured it out. I may have slipped up a couple of times, but overall he remains as clueless as ever.  
  
"Do you think he is romantically interested in you?"  
  
"He's seeing someone."  
  
"That doesn't answer the question."  
  
"I used to think that maybe… but now? No, he's not."  
  
"Is he a reason to stay?"  
  
Not lately, I think bitterly. I know that's just a little jealousy coming out after letting myself talk about him- us- so openly. I take a deep breath and try to clear my head of these inappropriate feelings. It does me no good to get upset about Amy. It's his life, and he can do with it whatever he wishes.  
  
"He's not going to be the deciding factor," I answer coolly.  
  
"But he is a factor?"  
  
"Yes." I answer quietly, hating myself for still loving him enough that he is a factor at all.  
  
"Maybe you should tell him how you feel."  
  
I just have to chuckle, even though I'm really not happy. "That would make things so much worse."  
  
There is a long pause as she stares intently at me. For a moment I think she's going to ask me to elaborate, and I'm not sure how I'd deal with that. Eventually, though, she looks back down at the notebook in her lap and asks, "What else has been happening at work recently?" And with that we move on to other subjects. I can't help but think, though, that this is was the heart of the matter.  
  
***  
  
"Well, it looks like our time is almost up."  
  
"I haven't figured out what to do."  
  
"I can't tell you what to do."  
  
Now she tells me.  
  
"What I can tell you is that sometimes stressful events can affect behavior weeks or even months after they occur."  
  
"I work in the White House. I've been under stress pretty much constantly for the last four years."  
  
She smiles and says, "Maybe stressful was the wrong word. Traumatic."  
  
For a second I'm shocked back to all the research I accumulated over the fall and winter of last year. "Traumatic?" I repeat dumbly. "I haven't experienced anything traumatic."  
  
"Donna, unless I'm mistaken, you were called to testify before a Congressional hearing. I think that could be considered especially stressful, even traumatic." Add to that the fact that I slept with the opposing council, got caught in a lie and had to have my boss bail me out, and I think you could definitely call it stressful.  
  
"So, you're saying I'm thinking about quitting my job as some sort of… reaction to the hearings?" I ask, still unconvinced.  
  
"Your job takes up a lot of your time and energy, doesn't it?"  
  
"Yeah," I answer warily, wondering where this is going.  
  
"I'm saying that for a while there you completely lost control. And seeing as work takes up so much of your time, it was probably harder for you than it would have been for other people. This new job may be the best thing for you, but before you make your final decision just be aware of what you're going through. Don't do anything hasty."  
  
"I'm not impulsive."  
  
"Good," she says simply. I get the impression that she doesn't entirely believe me, and I have to fight the urge to keep talking to prove that she's wrong. I take a deep breath.  
  
"Thank you," I say as I get up from the chair and shake her hand. I walk outside into the cold. Checking my watch, I realize that I'm going to have to take a cab if I want to get back to work before Josh throws a tantrum.  
  
***  
  
As I sit in the back of an ancient taxi, watching my reflection in the window, I get a sick feeling in my stomach that comes from being caught in a lie. I've always been impulsive, and I've had more than my fair share of hard times.  
  
When I left Bill the first time, I didn't even cry, I just packed up and drove to New Hampshire. When the First Lady forced me to go home to sleep after Josh got out of surgery I painted my apartment the ugliest shade of yellow because it was the first can of paint that I found. Then, last fall I slept with a man I shouldn't have, and perjured myself for no good reason.  
  
By the time I've gotten back to my desk, I've decided that I can change. I know that if I take this job now I'll just end up regretting it. I'll work my hardest, and pretend that I'm not being ignored. I can pretend that everything is normal.  
  
"Donna," he yells before I can even hang up my coat. "Toby should be just about done with the first draft of the President's remarks for the fundraiser on Monday. Get them for me; I've got a meeting with Leo. And can you call Amy and tell her that I won't be able to make it for lunch tomorrow?"  
  
"Sure," I say as brightly as I can. See, I can do this. I can pretend that I don't still love him; that Amy doesn't bother me at all. I just have to work with what I have now, and not dwell on what used to be. 


End file.
